Deckers Just Want to Have Fun
by Darkstar83
Summary: An extraction goes wrong. A decker goes crazy. A corporate employee gets his head blown off. What else could you possibly want?
1. Origin of Disaster

12/03/2004

**Deckers Just Want to Have Fun**

"Holster that thing you fragging maniac," Snakebite's words bit through the thick smog, "we're here for a live rat, not a bunch o' dead ones."

I offered no resistance, and slid my HK225 back into its holster. He was right, after all. We were crouched outside a small factory, waiting for the sec boys out front to go on their nightly smoke break. If we went in loud, we'd never get in and out again before we had the entire corp sec force up our hoops.

The decker we brought along, an oddly-dressed elven fellow named Creep, was still jacked in, his eyes were rolled back into his head and every once in a while a thin smile flashed across his face. No matter how many times I see that, it still freaks me out. He reached up and yanked the datajack out of his temple, turned towards us, and smiled. "We're in business," he said with mischief in his eyes, "they won't even notice the slag is gone."

At least this run looked like it was going well…

We watched as the two guards strolled to the side of the building and leaned up against the wall, both lighting crooked cigarettes. Snakebite gave the signal, and we crept along the sidewalk, making sure the sec boys kept their attention on their smokes, and not the three runners sneaking up to their little factory.

When we reached the door, I retrieved my kit out of my bag, and went to work on the maglock. This one was pretty, card reader, palm scan, retinal, all the good stuff corps waste so much good cred on. It really was a shame. In a couple seconds, the lock clicked open, and we slid inside, making sure the door locked again behind us.

"Alright, lets get our hoops to the central sec office, before the cams spot us." Snakbite whispered. Creep and I nodded in agreement, and we slithered down the hallway, taking care to avoid the camera sweeps at hallway intersections.

This was why I loved running with Snakebite. The man had a way of making everything easy. Any other group of runners would get lost in this maze of hallways, but not Snakebite, he had an inhuman sense of direction, and the cyberware to match. His retinal mods displayed maps from headware mem, which gave him the tactical advantage in just about every situation imaginable. He probably knew this place better than the sec boys that guarded it.

Three hallways later, after 2 more patrols and 3 more maglocks, we reached the central security office. Now the cannons came out. Snakebite had a nicely modified MaxPower, Creep, the crazy bastard, was toting the largest shotgun I have ever seen. I pulled my HK225 back out of the holster and held it in my left while I worked on the lock. As soon as it made that lovely clicking sound, Snakebite threw the door open and barged inside. I swear one of those corp slags must have wet himself. Which might have been a good idea for all of us, because what happened after that sure wasn't pretty.

Snakebite clobbered the closest corp with the butt of his pistol, and then tied him to the back of his chair with his labcoat. I held the other sod up against the wall with my smg, as Creep settled into a chair and started working on the computer consoles. After what seemed like hours (it must have been 3 minutes), Creep stood up with a jolt and pounded his fist into the console.

"He's not here," he exclaimed, "the sorry bastard isn't here!"

"What are you talking about, he _has_ to be here!" Snakebite replied.

"Well he's not, his signature isn't anywhere in this entire facility."

"Let me take a look at that, you watch this one, here."

With that Snakebite moved over to the console and began typing away, while Creep took his monster shotgun and leveled it at the poor slag's face. Apparently Creep didn't like it when anything went wrong…

The blast knocked Creep onto his hoop, and Snakebite and I hit the dirt faster than a jet over Tir'Tairngire. The corp boys weren't so lucky. The first one must have died instantly, the entire top half of his head was splattered on the wall. The slug still had some force left in it after that I suppose, and buried itself deep into corp #2's gut. He was currently on the floor by my feet, whimpering and crying, trying to plug the hole in his stomach with his thumbs. It was a pitiful sight, but we didn't have time for mercy.

"Let's go, NOW," Snakebite barked at us, obviously pissed as all hell. I did the smart thing and complied. Creep wasn't in such a cooperative mood. He stood up, dusted himself off, and hefted that ugly hulk of a weapon onto his shoulder before strolling out into the hallway like he hadn't just blow somebody's head off.

"Forget him, we gotta get out of here before those sec boys fry our hoops and feed 'em to the maggots." Snakebite turned and ran down the hallway we came from, I followed.

The rest of that run was a blur of bullets and a chorus of screams; I'd prefer not to remember it. Snakebite and I made it out alright, lost some blood and some bullets on the way, but any run you live through is a good one, or at least that's what some people say. The next night we contacted our employer and set up a meeting where we could apologize for botching the job, and hope he wouldn't plug us for failure.

We found him waiting for us, credsticks in hand. We dare not argue with cred, so we accepted the payment and left, equal parts thankful and frightened. After some later research it turns out that Creep somehow pulled the job off, and brought the target to our employer himself. Why he left cred for us, I'll never know. Heck, after what happened that night, I don't want to know.


	2. This is my Boomstick!

12082004

**Deckers Just Want to Have Fun**

Part 2: "This is my boomstick!" 

"I really love how heavy this thing is. Makes it feel so much more powerful. When everything else on this fragging muckhole is trying to get smaller and more efficient, good old slugtossers get bigger, louder, and a whole lot more efficient!" A loud blast rebounded off of the concrete walls as a heavy-set man in a security uniform is sent flying through the air, landing on the polished floor with a wet crunch. "See!!! I LOVE THAT!!!" A hysterical laugh went echoing down the hallway, making it sound as if an army of mental patients with shotguns was blasting it's way through the factory.

Creep happily skipped down the hall, prancing over the bodies of securitech and corporate personnel alike. "Let's see here. We gotta head over to B wing, then down hallway 7-2…" another guard went flying as he came running around the corner, only to receive a face full of shotgun slugs. "Ahem," Creep cleared his throat, annoyed by the interruption, "Down hallway 7-2, then take the North Western staircase down to the factory level. Okay!" He smiled, obviously pleased with his fine memory (thank god for cyberware) and reached down to snatch the keycard from a dead securitech guard.

He could hear gunshots from behind him, most likely Snakebite and Ricochet trying to blast their way out. The corners of his lips bent upwards in that queer smile of his again. He didn't really wish them any harm; he was just amused and quite pleased with himself. When Snakebite contacted him about the job, he knew it wasn't going to go to plan; extractions never go to plan. He accepted anyway, and when the drek hit the fan, he wasn't in the least surprised. That was when _his _plan got underway.

The first move, of course, was to kill the two corp workers manning the security office. That couldn't have been easier. With one's brains splattered about the whole room in a shower of red gore, and the other on the floor, slowly bleeding to death from the hole in his gullet, Creep had hefted his weapon and slowly walked into the hallway, to continue with the extraction. That was when Snakebite and Ricochet bolted. He couldn't blame them, wholesale slaughter wasn't at all the way those two preferred their jobs to go. Creep, however, was bored of sneaking around like a gutter rat, avoiding everyone and everything, just to clean up someone else's mess. He was going to make his own mess this time, and there wasn't going to be anyone left alive to clean it.

A large red "B" up ahead let him know he was getting close. Next he would find hallway 7-2, then the NW staircase. "This is just too easy! I should do all my jobs like this!" He let out a giggle as his shotgun barked at the two guards standing below the giant, red "B," spraying the wall with blood and little chunks of uniform and flesh. One of the guards somehow wasn't dead, and was able to squeeze off two bullets before the shotgun barked again.

"OF ALL THE DREK IN DENVER," Creep screamed as he marched over to the dead sec guard and dug his shotgun barrel into back of his head, "I…REALLY…LIKED…THESE…PANTS!!!" The blast knocked Creep onto his back, a large chunk of the guard's skull sweeping him off of his feet. Now covered in gore, his hair mussed and stained red, and his cybernetic leg showing through the holes in his ruined pants, Creep stormed off down hallway 7-2, finger twitching at the trigger of his cannon.

The guard on the staircase was the most memorable kill of the night, for Creep anyway, the guard didn't quite make it. He was sitting on a stair, sneaking a cigarette and a nip from his flask. Somehow this chummer had no idea there was a madman with a very large gun standing right behind him.

"'Ey there chummer! Got any smokes for me?" Creep asked aloud. The guard, however, didn't budge, his eyes examining the imperfections in the concrete wall opposite him. "Can ya hear me, chummer?" Creep asked again, "Is there something wrong with your hear-holes?" Again the guard paid him no mind, taking a slow drag off of his cigarette and another swig from his flask.

This made Creep a little upset. He tapped the guard on the shoulder with his shotgun, and the man jumped up, trying clumsily to hide the smoking cigarette and flask behind his back. His eyes widened at the sight of a blood-covered elf with a shotgun, and he turned to run down the stairs. Creep pulled the trigger, and three slugs flew out of the barrel, one catching the guard in the ankle, another in his back. The third slug buried itself into the wall, and the guard went rolling down the stairs, arms flailing, sending the cigarette and flask flying through the air.

When Creep reached the bottom of the stairwell, a small pool of blood had formed beneath the dying man. It was then that Creep noticed the warning on the man's identification tag, the poor slag was indeed deaf. This was obviously a wonderfully funny turn of events to Creep, who threw his head back and began howling with laughter, as the deaf guard squirmed about beneath him. When the hilarity had ended, Creep leaned down to the guard's face, "I'm real sorry about this, chummer, but I'm afraid I'm an equal-opportunity psychopath." What the guard said next was probably a "no," or a "don't," but Creep really didn't give him enough time to finish.

The factory doors flew open with a bang, and Creep barged through them, shotgun held high in the air. Another blast and all of the workers fell silent. "This," exclaimed Creep, waving the shotgun above him, "is my BOOMSTICK!" Another hysterical laugh followed, until Creep realized he was most likely the only person in this room that had ever seen any 20th century vids. He shook his head, and began going to work, lining up all of the factory workers. Scientists, line workers, the entire intellectual gamut was represented along this wall. When he had all of their attention, he spoke up, "Pay attention you sorry slags, I'm looking for Mr. Williamson." An older man with thinning brown hair came forward. His nametag read, "Mr. George Williamson."

"Good," Creep said, "Let's go Mr. Williamson." With that he led the man out of the factory, but not before tossing a small parcel to the man in the center of the lineup. The smile came back then, and he laughed all the way out of the building, prodding the older man in the back with his shotgun. When they reached his bike, Creep turned around and watched the factory below him.

"Hey, Willie, come watch this," Creep said, grabbing the man by the collar of his lab coat and dragging him over to the edge of the roof.

"What? What? What do you want with me?" The man asked as he shuffled over towards Creep, barely able to stand.

"Just watch, chummer," was Creep's reply, "or else you'll miss a good show." The smile came back again, and Creep and Mr. Williamson watched the factory carefully for a few minutes, until Creep looked down at his watch. "Four…three…two…one…"

Creep awoke to the smell burning building, little flakes of ash coming down all around them, like grimy sprawl snow. Mr. Williamson was unconscious, Creep wasn't sure whether he had been knocked out or if he had fainted, neither one would have surprised him much. He checked to make sure his bike was intact, and then he threw Mr. Williamson's limp body across the back seat and raced off to the drop point. After all, he had a fee to collect, and a valuable piece of corporate property to deliver.

Just thinking about the look on Snakebite's face made him giggle.


End file.
